


crush culture

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conflict, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gay Richie Tozier, Inspired by The Half of It (2020), Love Triangles, M/M, Mild Language, Sexuality Crisis, Sort Of, dont erase his sexuality, eddie just doesn't understand or like richie, for a while that is, i haven't slept in a long time, i time jump a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Stan Uris gets Eddie Kaspbrak to write a few love letters to Richie Tozier (whom of which Eddie cannot stand), it's a rocky two-month journey they can hardly juggle with. And Eddie gets too deep writing to Richie.OR: Eddie Kaspbrak unexpectedly falls for the most irritating boy on the planet and Stan hardly has a clue.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 39





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> title- crush culture , conan gray
> 
> i don't ship stozier it's just for the sake of the way the triangle works. i don't really like this a whole lot? it's sorta unrealistic towards the middle/end of the first part. but i don't hate the second part. so. 
> 
> i love the half of it sO MUCH!! im pretty sure im not the first person to be inspired to write a reddie au based off of it , but who gives a shit .

Eddie Kaspbrak swears that Derry High has a history for people like him. Except, well, no one would know that. Because, quite frankly, Eddie is a loser amongst losers. He's _that_ straight-A student that will do anyone's assignment for a couple bucks. Though, none of those people know who Eddie even is, none bother to be his friend, or stop to talk to him in the halls. His mom might not know of his antics, but he's making good money, that's for sure. He never had many friends, not that he particularly cared. They'd part ways eventually, so what was the point? 

But, it's Thursday afternoon and he's walking through the crisp autumn air back home. Derry is a small town, all he can hear is the damp squeak and squelch the grip of his shoes are making against the road, and the hush of cars every so often. 

Then something picks up his ears, feet padding quickly... quickly behind him. It's at that moment he swears he is going to get kidnapped and sold in a sketchy alley in New York. 

Eddie jolts his head quicker than his neck can understand, giving an ache. There's a boy with light brown, curly hair running towards him. He looks familiar, he thinks he's seen him somewhere. But definitely not at school, because no one would be seen approaching Eddie outside of school. So, Eddie keeps walking.

"Eddie!" the boy calls from behind him, and it startles Eddie, as it should. He stops in his tracks, turning around and moving his feet to meet the boy. "How do you know my name?" Eddie demands. 

The boy stops and takes a moment to breathe. "Good, okay, it _is_ you," he says as he's gasping for air. Eddie is staring blankly at the boy catching his breath. 

"I'm- I'm Stan Uris," 

Eddie only looks more confused. 

"...Derry High quarterback," Stan says slowly, giving Eddie new information he didn't know what he'd do with, but he caught on quickly, sighing and rolling his eyes. "Thirty bucks per page, tell me what it's about and I'll have it to you by tomorrow morning," Eddie huffs out. Because that's all he's known for; at least he's known for something. 

"Wha...? Wait- no, no, no. I don't need an essay, I need you to write a letter," Stan blurts quickly, reaching his hands to grab Eddie's jacket but pulled away. "Yeah, for what class?" Eddie turns and asks, obliviously.

Stan rolled his eyes and flopped his arms at his sides. "Can you write me a letter for someone?" 

"What kind of letter?"

"A luh- a love letter,"

Eddie squinted, because who the fuck is writing letters right now? "Is this like... Romeo and Juliet?" he jokes, but his face must say differently because Stan starts to bite the inside of his cheek. "Who is it for?" Eddie asks curiously. It might not be his place, but if he's close to agreeing, he's gotta know who.

"For Richie Tozier, you know him?" 

Eddie raises his eyebrows slightly, he knew Richie, but Richie didn't know him. Well, he did, but, he didn't _know_ Eddie. Richie constantly teased him, like he enjoyed watching Eddie heat up and try to argue. He wasn't dating anyone, but everyone wanted to. Richie was a sight for sore eyes, truly. With curly black hair, thick glasses that simply suited him, his fucking bone structure was from the Gods, he was tall, lips were- fuck. Eddie never got a very close look, but he thinks Richie had freckles. He talked a lot, he was a disruption.

Richie Tozier was a stuck-up, loud, dumbass who flirted with anyone who came his way. That was stupid if he didn't want anyone. But no, it was okay, because it was a good thing he was cute. He killed his lungs with weed and cigarettes, and that's all he smelled like, smoke and body cologne like he tried to smell _okay_. If you could get Eddie to talk about Richie, he would mainly point out how terribly he dressed.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Eddie nods after some time.

A smile appears on Stan's lips. "Perfect!" he comes forward to hug Eddie, but he backs away. Stan clears his throat, "Whats- uhm... what's your number?" he asks as he's retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"That doesn't mean I'll help you write to him. Richie Tozier is unarguably the worst and most disgusting boy at our school. That's including Samuel Moore," Eddie says, taking a few steps back. 

Stan put his phone back in his pocket. "I can... I can pay you. How ever much you want," his eyes look sad and hopeful, "Please," 

Eddie scoffed, "I usually charge forty per page, but, you seem desperate," he says with a smile. 

They exchange numbers, and Eddie thinks that this is the weirdest favor someone asked him. Normally, ideas would flow through his brain on his way home, but, his thoughts are just _how_. How he should write this, how to approach it, how to continue it. But forty bucks wasn't bad for a love letter.

Eddie is in his bed with a half sheet in front of him, and he's playing his playlist in which mostly consists of Clairo and Conan Gray. And he just stares at the paper with the pen stuttering and hesitating movement, because he can't think. It fucking sucks, because he should be getting ready for bed, but instead, he's writing a letter to Richie Tozier, not "from him". He and Stan hardly even talked about what he wanted it so say. 

There was some consideration of movie quotes or Cigarettes After Sex lyrics, but he's nearing the end of _Garden Shed,_ when he pushed the pen on the paper and moves his wrist to write the simplest thing ever. 

_Don't kill the rose_   
_Before it could bloom_   
_Love every flower_   
_Out the cocoon_

_-Stan Uris_

It was a Tyler, the Creator lyric. Richie seemed like a person who was passionate about music, his earphones always in, and tapping his fingers to a beat to something Eddie doesn't know. How the fuck does he learn anything? Eddie's seen him flaunt scores of nineties and hundreds, but he hardly pays attention, so, _how_. He does know that it isn't much, or what he'd expected himself to write; he wouldn't be folding the paper and tucking it into his backpack.

The song was personal, so Eddie liked it. And Eddie was original, he made sure to never plagiarize, but this is a song lyric, it couldn't hurt. Only it did, when Eddie is showing Stan the letter during free period on the bleachers. 

*

"You wrote a lyric from _Garden Shed..._ " Stan said slowly, his eyes skimming over the paper with precision, making sure he wasn't going blind. Eddie hummed in response, in part annoyance. "You wanna write it instead?" 

Stan looked up and shook his head quickly. "No, no, no, no. Slip it in his locker: two forty-eight," he says, and hands the folded paper back to Eddie. 

"And if he writes back?" 

_"If,"_ Stan echos, but gives a small smile. "Just write my locker number at the bottom, he doesn't know who you are, anyway." The truth sort of hurts but Eddie can't argue. Because again, no one does. Only for assignments. Eddie is very glad Richie has never asked for an essay written. Eddies face must falter, because Stan is apologizing quickly. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean it like that." 

Eddie dismisses it with a wave of his hand, and uncomfortable silence still stands. Eddie grips on the paper tighter, standing up to move down the bleachers. "I should get going," he says and gestures to the main building. 

"Yeah. Thank you, by the way." Stan says. It seems stupid, to be thanking him for writing a lyric from a song and just slipping it into his locker. Maybe he means thank you for willing to do this, for going home to think and consider things. 

Eddie gives a little smile and a nod and jogs down the steps. When he gets to locker two forty-eight, he hesitates. Hardly anyone is in the hall, but he pulls the letter out and a pencil, scribbling Stans locker at the bottom. Three eleven.

He bites his lip and watches it fall between the slots. Eddie wonders how many people have sent him letters, or more so direct messages, because no one but Stan is writing letters in this year. Richie probably has tons of girls all over him. Maybe even boys, Eddie doesn't discriminate. He thinks of that song by Lana Del Rey, about a troubled girl everyone loves because of her charm. Eddie will never like Richie.

As the day passes, Eddie is distracted for the first time in a while. He's dazing off in class, tapping his pencil too often, and glancing at Richie who sits across the room in his last period. 

All Eddie can hope for is that Richie never catches Eddie slipping notes into his locker. He hates jinxing things.

* * *

Stan is turning sharply, eyes darting back and forth in search of Eddie in the cafeteria. He's done three laps around all tables, then takes his next best guess: bathrooms.

He feels a little shitty to see Eddie just washing his hands, basically expecting him to be the type to eat in the bathroom. Nope. Stanley Uris didn't know the number one thing about Eddie Kaspbrak. He was a hypochondriac on all levels and extremely cautious. No way would Eddie even come close to thinking about eating in the bathroom. 

"Eddie! Oh, thank God." Stan breaths out at the sight of him. He holds a half sheet up, "He wrote back," 

Eddie raised his eyebrows and rushed over, snatching the paper from Stan and reading it. The handwriting wasn't the neatest- hell, it was far from neat. Like Richie Tozier didn't know what putting pressure to write meant, that's how light it was. And as if he wrote with his non-dominant hand... yeah. 

_Tyler is dope._

_What brings you to write to me? Social media exists, you know._

_-Tozier_

There's a glint in Stan's eyes when Eddie looks back up. "The fuck is that?" Eddie asks, holding it up and scrunching his face. "He's very blunt," Eddie states when Stan says nothing. 

"But it's something," Stan encourages, Eddie can't lie, he looks happy about it. "Can you help me with my response?" Stan asks.

Stan looks so hopeful, but Eddie is booked with essays and assignments, he can't let those people down. "I... I don't know if I can," Eddie stammers, and he sounds sad. "Please. I can write it, I just need some inspiration and corrections, please." 

Eddie grips the straps of his backpack, preparing to turn him down again, as much as he surprisingly wants to help. "I'll keep paying you until this is over, I'll get you in the movies for as long as you live in Derry for free, I'll pay for your lunch- I'll do anything," Stan adds. He'd probably be lost if Eddie wouldn't help him, he can see it in his eyes.

"Okay." 

And Stans entire face lights up, like his whole body just emits happy energy. "Yes! Thank you!" 

Eddie smiles and nods slightly. "Meet me at The Aladdin at four, that's when I get off," Stan says and prepares to leave. That's only until Richie himself comes through the door, head down and legs moving quickly.

"Oh, 'scuse me," he mumbles past them, and Stan is blessed that Richie hadn't looked up. 

They go still, their breathing stops until they hear that stall door close. Then Eddie makes a run for it, Stan mindlessly following him out. "You think he saw us?" Eddie whispered as he swung a leg over the bench at a table placed in the far back. 

"Fuck, I hope not." 

The two discuss a little more, digging deeper to find more things to talk about. Stan is an entertaining person to talk to, Eddie decides while he blabs his mouth on football. Eddie wanted Stan to express what he'd want to transmit to the letter, Eddie took note of every little thing. Stan was passionate about football and cooking, math and drawing, maybe some other things he talked too fast about, too. 

"You know? And it's almost like... are you even listening to me?" Stan nearly laughs out. Eddie blinks a few times, coming back into reality. "Yeah. Sorry, continue." and Eddie must bite back a smile at the chances of him having a new friend. Maybe.

*

Stan is leaning over the counter, watching Eddie carefully read the letter. He wasn't in any way, shape, or form a writer. He hardly passed English freshman year. So everything just happened to be clustered together, like run-on sentences, misuse of commas, spelling, and subjects that stray away from the topic. Eddie rubs the back of his neck. He corrects a few things before suggesting some.

_Hi, Richie. I didn't text you because, I wanted to come to you natuarally and genuine ~~I~~ ~~didn't want to text you because I feel like it's not as personal, and well thought.~~ Your a really cool guy. You probably know I'm quarterback and kind of well known, but it isn't too jazzy. I was born and raised here in Derry. I work at the Aladdin. I really like chocolate milkshakes and glazed donuts. Okay to be honest, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Maybe I'm too nervous to even look you in the eye, to have a real conversion with you. But I do know that I would love to get to know you more. _

_-Stan Uris_

"Oh, man." Eddie breathed out after doing the markings, eyes skimming over once more. "That is some letter, I'll tell you what," 

Stan frowned and crossed his arms, "What's wrong with it?" he asks concerned. And it's really hard for Eddie to hide his laugh. "Your grammar, for one. Run-on sentences... you're kind of all over the place." Eddie says and put the sheet back in front of Stan with underlined corrections, he puts a finger over his mouth while he thinks. 

"I can rewrite the entire thing," 

Eddie doesn't know why he says that, he initially said he'd just help, but help isn't enough. So, he wouldn't mind taking it into his own hands until Stan learns something for once. He thinks he could make Stan seem like an entirely different person on paper, hopefully, he can manifest enough so when Richie gets to talk to Stan, he isn't as awkward, he can open up. 

"You've never talked to him?" Eddie asks, looking up at Stans enlightened face. "No, but I know I'm in love with him." Stan recovers quickly, his eyes look glossy. That's when Eddie can't- under all circumstances- hold his laugh. 

He giggles for a while, "You- sorry, you're _in love with him?_ That's so- Stan, you're delusional!" Eddie spills, laughs caught in between words. Stan furrows his eyebrows, "You're no help." 

"I'm trying to help you as much as I can, Stanley. Just let me write your response, he'll take it well." 

The Aladdin is darker, now, with the sun setting and blanketing a sheer blue over the black sky. The dim lights casting gold around the building. No one is really here, because no one wants to watch a movie in the middle of the week in the late afternoon. Eddie doesn't leave when Stan does, he lets a few minutes pass while he stands outside against the building, before moving his feet down the road. 

Stan is brave, Eddie knows that. It was so easy for him to come to Eddie and openly say how he wants to approach a boy. He wasn't afraid. That was something Eddie wanted, he didn't resent Stan for that, no. He just needed understanding, reassurance. 

As years went on, Eddie never found interest in girls, in anyone, really. He hardly looked at them, understood them, cared for them. Eddie didn't realize that until now, there must have been a reason as to why he didn't. Was he...?

No. The thought made him shiver, he shook his head rapidly and tried slowing down his breaths. It was the last thing he wanted to think of right now. Just get that letter done. 

*

Minutes go by with Eddie staring at the paper, incapable of knowing where to start yet again. In order to begin, he needed a base, a blueprint. Stan hardly gave him an idea of what he felt, but he took his best guess at writing it. 

Eddie had never been in love. He didn't know what to compare it to, or what to describe it as. He contemplated literally looking it up, that's how stuck he was. Music seemed to always help, though. 

The letter goes like this:

_Flower Boy is a masterpiece._

_Texting you on your socials didn't feel genuine enough. This may be cheesy or stupid, but I'm no romantic guy, you know? Writing to you rather than talking to you seems like my best bet. I'm the stereotypical football jock (except, I'm not a cis het male) who has nothing better to do than fall for someone. I don't think that's terrible, not really. At least, not when it's you._

_You're pretty fucking cool, I won't lie. I know you're an honest guy, you're funny, you're kind, you're smart, you're confident, and you're cute? God really took his time with you. But maybe you need to work on your outfits, that I will say._

_Talking to you face-to-face will, unfortunately, take some time because, with all due respect, I can't stop blushing every time I look at you. Sometimes I'll duck my head in the halls to avoid gazing at you, not like you'd see me, anyway. No one really does. Or I'll look in the other direction when you probably feel laser-eyes burning into the back of your head. Part of those want to see yours, but can't face the embarrassment if and when eyes finally meet, and yours read differently._

_It really sounds like I'm confessing my love out here, huh?_

_Maybe you'll take this the wrong way and never write back. That's all right, just know that Stanley Uris has big star eyes for you. If this was a different scenario and I were to text you, I would send that and a million other emojis to prove this shit._

_-Stan Uris_

Eddie looks it over again, he's not _entirely_ pleased, but it'll do. 

Some words completely opposite of how he felt about Richie, so he pleaded Stan for descriptions. 

* * *

"That... it's a lot better than what I wrote." Stan says and plucks another chip from his bag. "I kind of like his style, though," he adds with a smile. 

Eddie looks around for a moment, thinking. "He wears Hawaiian shirts, it's _not_ style, it's weird," Stans grin grew wider as he shrugged. 

They talked a little more, learning about each other little by little. It was nice, and it felt real. "Hey, what's that part. That part right there," Stan asks and points a line in the middle, the line that reads: _Sometimes I'll duck my head in the halls to avoid gazing at you, not like you'd see me, anyway. No one really does._

At the time Eddie wrote it, he didn't think much of it. But now he is. "I don't know, I sort of saw it as you're this popular jock, but no one _really_ knows you. Like, deep down." Eddie shrugs, "I can change it if you want." 

Stan shakes his head. The concept isn't terrible, it makes perfect sense. Even if Eddie didn't intend that to begin with. 

It's next period and Eddie is drained. He doesn't really like Mrs. Cay, she's an older and moodier lady that he tries to be nice to. They watch boring history films constantly, the ones that are specifically made for kids in second grade with the editing format and the narration soft and slow. What seven year old would need to know about the Civil War. 

The day was over, and Eddie was walking down the steps with his bag bouncing hurriedly. There was no time to waste if he wanted to be home urgently.

"Eddie!" 

The voice is familiar and distant, but when he turns, they're far closer than he thought. And it's none other than Richie Tozier. This month must be the weirdest shit that Eddie has ever gone through. 

Eddie wants to keep walking. Keep walking keep walking keep walking. He doesn't, he stays in his spot and narrows his eyes at Richie.

"Hey! Are you friends with Stan?"

"Who's asking?" 

"...me?" 

Richie pats around his pockets until he finds what he was looking for and makes a pleased noise. Eddie rolls his eyes while he waits, gripping the straps of his backpack. "This. You know about this?" 

That letter. Does he know he wrote it? Did he see him slip it in? Richie looked exasperated from running, his bony fingers that held the paper shaking. Adrenaline clearly pumping through him. "No? Why would I know anything that had to do with you?" Eddie asks fiercely, switching his weight to his other foot.

"Who said it was about me?" Richie smiles, "Just teasing," Eddie rolls his eyes because of course he is. Richie always teases at any moment. "Are you, though?" 

Why the fuck is he pushing everything? Since when did Richie want to know if Eddie was friends with Stan? Is that what they were now? Were they considered friends?

Too many questions.

"When did you start caring so much about me?" 

"Since forever, sugarplum! How could I not care about you?" 

Eddie huffed out a breath and held back rolling his eyes once more. He did it too often to be healthy, afraid they'd get stuck in the back of his head. "I'm leaving now," he announced as if it mattered, turning on his heels. "Catch you later, angel face!" 

Eddie was sure to try and never talk to Richie again. That'd probably mean never talking to Stan when this is over. That is if they have a chance. Richie has got to be the most irritable boy ever. 

_*_

_12:23 AM_

_[stan] dude he hasn't written back_

_[stan] what if he's fucking clowning on me right now_

_[stan] shit_

_[eddie] no no stop, don't worry. i bet you he's working on it right now . its only been 2 days._

_[stan] that's 2 days too long_

_[eddie] goodnight, stan._

*

There's one thing Eddie hates, and that is waking up to more than a few messages from one person. He'd set his phone on _Do Not Disturb_ out of Stans pleads and continuous doubts. His iMessage racked up a good thirty message spam amongst other notifications, just from Stan.

A few minutes later, find him threatening Stan to be blocked if he didn't " _shut the fuck up, please_ ". Stans's intentions were only good, but dear God, he could be annoying. 

"Who is that you're talking to?" Sonia asks from the fridge, picking out some food Eddie can't see from where he sits at the island. "Just a friend from school," he replies simply. 

Maybe it was odd and suspicious because Eddie never stared too long at his screen especially this early in the morning.

"I never know of your friends, Eddie." 

He contemplates on saying _well, I never really had any,_ but that puts a shit type of pity on him, or maybe it could lead up to some sort of lecture. Eddie just sits quietly, tapping at the keyboard to try and calm Stan down. 

_[eddie] you gotta chill out_

_[stan] HOW ?!?!?!?!_

_[eddie] dunno_

_[eddie] anyway, how long should this letter thing go on?_

_[stan] for as long as we can_

_[eddie] is that how you'll marry him ? have ME send a letter saying "marry me, richie!"?_

_[stan] no comment_

_[eddie] k_

_[eddie] just so you know, i have like four essays to do aside from my own work, you owe me like sixty bucks i think, and my hand hurts._

_[stan] eddie i cant do this by myseeellllfffff_

_[eddie] you have to cooperate with me._

**_read 9:48 AM_ **

What more would they discuss? Eddie can only pray that Richie _isn't_ clowning on Stan right now, that would break his heart. Richie could have thrown the letter away if it was embarrassing or overall stupid, but he didn't. He went home and sat his ass down and _thought_. 

Thought about what to write back, where this would go, how long it would take... the list goes on. 

Richie was smart, very good grades even if he talked a lot. He wrote his own essays, hardly asked for help, understood on his own. Except for his response. Having to come to terms with his sexuality was a struggle when he was younger, it was difficult to process and accept. But, when he finally let it flow through him and learn to accept himself, his troubles stood with those who surrounded him.

Such as his parents, his friends, anyone in this small town. Word would get around in the blink of an eye, even if the person you told a secret to swore they wouldn't tell anyone. You're not the worm in their brain, therefore you'd never actually know whether or not they kept their promise. 

His parents didn't mind when he'd told them he was gay, it had only brought them closer. They were amazing parents, Maggie and Wentworth never doubted or put Richie down, they didn't see him differently, and they couldn't ask for a better son. Their boy who liked boys wasn't a problem. 

The tricky thing with the letter was that Richie hardly even knew who Stan Uris even was. Maybe he's seen him on the field a few times during a game he barely paid any attention to. 

He ultimately considered bullshitting this whole letter thing and pay Eddie to do it. But Eddie didn't want anything to do with him apparently. Richie was sure that no matter how much money he offered or gave, Eddie simply wouldn't do it. 

Technically, Richie hadn't done anything to make Eddie hate him so much. He was just loud and annoying. That was definitely the reason. 

Of course, Richie didn't know that Eddie was writing Stan's letters, too. If he had concluded on the decision on having Eddie do it (if he agreed), it wouldn't be an easy road. He'd basically be talking to himself at that point. 

_To **@eddiekasp**_

[@richiettozier] _hey_

* * *

The message is unexpected, that's for sure. He didn't know what to think after Richie tried making conversation after school. It was usually how it went, Richie trying to talk and Eddie pretty much saying " _get the fuck out of my face"._

Nine hours.

It's nine hours later when Eddie texts back. He doesn't want to text Richie back, it'll only give his ego a boost that Eddie actually replied. Sure, Eddie could read it as a way to provoke him even more. But, you know, you get those gut feelings that you just know you have to trust.

[@eddiekasp] _what_

[@richiettozier] _the man responded! one point for mr tozier. thank you, thank you_

[@eddiekasp] _why am i entertaining your bullshit?_

[@richiettozier] _you looovveeee meeeee_

Before Eddie can leave the chat and presumably block Richie, the typing bubbles start up again.

[@richiettozier] _please help me with that letter shit_

[@richiettozier] _i know you do essays for people but i wont rely on you, i can actually do it myself im not a fuckin toddler. i need some sort of inspiration. like what gets you going when you write?_

He is actually ridiculous, but what Eddie brings himself to type can't compare.

[@eddiekasp] _music._

[@richiettozier] _is that it_

[@eddiekasp] _clairo, swmrs, wallows, the neighbourhood... i dunno, anything your heart desires_

[@richiettozier] _my heart desires yoooouuuu_

[@richiettozier] _you listen to swmrs!?!??!? you are from the heabens above_

[@richiettozier] _heavens**_

**_Seen_ **

Giving into a conversation with someone you don't like is very weird. Especially when the feeling happens not to be very mutual. Fuck, maybe it is and Richies' way of showing it is by teasing. Constantly. Richie will indefinitely label himself as The Boy Who Eddie Kaspbrak Texted Back. 

Saturday evening is Richie crumbling papers and throwing them in his trash bin. Music filled his room with bass shaking the floor. He wasn't really listening to the lyrics which was the whole projection on helping. 

Even though Richie hardly knew Stan, it wouldn't hurt getting to know him better. He'd probably wind up just asking to be friends. Richie was average at best, he looked like every other male celebrity that weren't incredible actors, just praised for their looks. 

_If you're confessing your love, then so be it! I am no one to tell you differently._

_Okay, hear me out, I really don't know you that well._

_You're fantastic and brave of course, don't get me wrong. But you, Stan Uris, are a boy I haven't gotten the chance to know better amongst others. I didn't even know you liked boys, much less **me**. _

_What kind of music do you listen to?_

_Favorite movie/show?_

_I don't know how this letter shit is supposed to work. How much longer until I can talk to you in person? Preferably in a booth ;)._

_-Richie_

Yeah, Richie had no clue what he was doing. Richie didn't write, he talks a lot better with his mouth.

After the weekend, Stan is ecstatic, blabbing to Eddie on Richie talking about a date. 

"Mm-hm, implicitly," Eddie says and crosses the letter over the table. Stan narrows his eyes slightly and shakes his head. "You are not ready to talk to him in person," Eddie adds.

Stan bites his lip, "Can you help me with that?" The chatter is loud, Eddie wishes it can lower down to zero so he can hear more clearly. High school kids at lunch are not very considerate, to begin with. 

"I guess. If we're friends, that's the least I can do, right?" a smile lifted at their lips momentarily, before the bell rang. 

Of course. 

"Yeah," Stan shrugs, "Maybe so," he tosses the trash to the side of them and points at Eddie. "My place at... six. I'll send you my address after chem," 

And in a moment, plans were set. To be a talking coach? Sure, you could call it that. But Eddie liked the term _simply being a good friend._

_*_

_It's always sort of dismissed, and you wouldn't even think it if you didn't know me. Not like Charles Peyton who is very clearly gay._

_I listen to a lot of Declan McKenna, Steve Lacy, SWMRS, anything. As long as it's not country music, I will openly listen._

_My favorite movie would be any of the Marvel movies. Favorite show would probably be Brooklyn Nine-Nine._

_What about you?_

_-Stan_

_*_

_A friend of mine listens to SWMRS as well! Well, I wouldn't consider him a friend, he doesn't like me._

_It's good to know some people know what good music is._

_I adore PUP, Wallows, The Cure, together PANGEA... indie or alternative will please me._

_I love Marvel movies! Who is your favorite? Bucky should be the only answer :). If not Marvel, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Moonlight, or Dead Poets Society._

_As for shows, I consider Buzzfeed Unsolved a show, no?_

_Favorite color?_

_-T_

_*_

_Yeah, I don't think he should even be thought of as a friend. Does he even make a conversation with you?_

_BUCKY BUCKY BUCKY! No exceptions._

_I take it you love Shane, but hardly agree with anything he says. You're probably a pussy when it comes to ghosts and demons and shit, I bet a million dollars._

_Forest green or purple._

_You?_

_*_

_Well, I try to talk to him. I didn't do anything to make him hate me, but I'll tease the shit out of him if it makes his cheeks red with either anger or embarrassment._

_I'll proudly wear the Shaniac title till the day I die, thank you._

_...I refuse to watch it at night._

_Your colors are spicy, I won't lie!_

_Orange, lime green, or pink. But a really hot pink._

_Favorite food?_

_*_

_Pizza_.

_You?_

Eddie didn't know where he was going with this, and he didn't know how to tell Stan he'd been talking to Richie. He hadn't even said he wrote back. So much for wanting to be a good friend.

_*_

_Pizza date next Friday? We've been talking for weeks._

There's a scramble of numbers at the bottom. Eddie really wishes he'd told Stan sooner, because he'd now been texting Richie... great.

* * *

Now, Eddie would never admit this to anyone, let alone himself. He doesn't even acknowledge it until he's watching the date go down from the diner window from the parking lot. But he's starting to like Richie. While he watches the two struggle to communicate, he can't but notice how nervous Richie looks. 

Eddie doesn't know how this would end, he'd taught Stan about Bucky and SWMRS and Buzzfeed Unsolved, realizing that _Eddie_ was talking to Richie, and he didn't even know it. Let alone texting, that had been... something. They expressed themselves a lot more. Eddie doesn't think he'd ever laugh at Richies jokes, but he did. 

Maybe Richie isn't too bad, he could still be loud, but he wasn't a dick, so, yay?

Silence still stands at the booth, Stan could become one with the seat in the blink of an eye. For Richie talking a whole lot, he's not doing too hot right now. The feeling of being uncomfortable is pushed in the back of his mind while he stared at his hands. 

"What do you like about football?"

"Do you like John Mulaney?" 

They say at the same time. It brings some humor to the table, thankfully. "Go first," Richie says while he folds his hands on the table to appear intrigued, relaxed. 

"You like John Mulaney?" he asks again. It's hard to make eye contact, so he's glancing all over the place while Richie has his focus on him. "Yeah, he's pretty great," Richie shrugs. 

"What were you going to say?" Stan asks, building the courage to finally look at him. 

"Oh, yeah. What do you like about football?" 

Stan gives a sort of generic answer, it isn't quite understandable. None of football _is_. Crossing the field in a zig-zag pattern while other big-built boys come tumbling after you. 

They talk with awkward pauses filling between them. With Eddie watching from a distance, he mutters encouraging words like Stan could hear him. He wants to go in there and do all the talking for him, or have an earpiece so he can tell Stan what to say. He'd do that for the rest of his life if he had to. 

Richie looks down at his buzzing phone, a few texts from his mom appears, "Oh, shit. I gotta go, moms asking." he says and faces Stan as he pockets his phone. 

"Yeah, I should get going too," 

Eddie is hardly paying attention by the time they leave the building and are walking towards the car. He topples into the back seats, hearing faint murmurs of "Thank you, I had fun." and "I'll see you around, Stan the Man" 

Fuck, he hopes the restaurants light doesn't glow on him. So he tucks his head further in his sweatshirt. He hears footsteps go away, the car doors unlock and open, then Stan is inside. 

"You can come out now," 

The car ride back to Eddie's house is nothing but Stan worrying about Richies body language and lack of jokes. Stan didn't act a lot like he did through the letters, but that had been established early on that doesn't know how to act. Which, from an outside view, is probably childish. That's Richies entire persona, though. Being childish, that is. 

Aside from being awkward and different, Stan simply isn't the person Richie wants. At least, not like _that_. 

*

Eddie wakes up to a few messages from none other. 

[@richiettozier] _i know you hate me but can you please help me_

It's a big eye roll, because Eddie is supposed to be ignoring Richie, acting like he is the most annoying boy he'd ever come across, not giving in to yet another conversation. Again, Richie Tozier isn't that terrible.

[@eddiekasp] _i don't hate you lol. help you with what?_

[@richiettozier] _i knew it!_

[@richiettozier] _luv u too bae_

[@eddiekasp] _block button looking mad cute right about now_

[@richiettozier] _no no no no okay okay okay_

[@richiettozier] _idk how to talk to stan_

Eddie lets a hand run through the length of his knotted hair, taking in a deep breath. If he had to help both of them, the outcome would not be compatible. God, if only he could know the truth.

[@eddiekasp] _how do you want me to help you?_

[@richiettozier] _wow r u actually willing to do this_

[@eddiekasp] _i won't if you don't tell me_

He looks up for a second and catches a glance at the mirror, he hates himself for seeing a smile on his lips. He wipes it off quickly, looking down again to see Richie typing. His profile picture has got to be his best picture, Eddie's surprised he willingly takes them. And he looks... good, he definitely knows his angles more than Eddie thought he did. 

[@richiettozier] _can we pls talk it over at that one diner in portland_

[@eddiekasp] _you want to drive down to portland so i can coach you how to talk?_

[@richiettozier] _yeah_

[@eddiekasp] _who said i'll join you?_

Eddie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and thinks. He will not go to Portland with Richie. Why is he even doing this right now? Is Richie on to him? Does he know it hasn't been Stan talking this entire time? Will he get called out for it? 

[@eddiekasp] _we have three classes together, you know_

[@richiettozier] _cmon a lil heart to heart with the boy who hates my guts wouldn't be too bad_

Yes, it would. Eddie would simply not know how to act while he's been texting Richie fucking Tozier like nothing mattered. Because he wasn't Stan. Part of the realization hurt. _Fuck you, you're so stupid,_ his mind screamed to himself. 

In the end, it was difficult to get Richie to agree that they just talk sometime after school. What happened to Eddie Kaspbrak? Did writing the letters do this to him? If it did, oh God, he would never take another breath.

* * *

A few weeks of them talking go by. Eddie didn't turn Richie down, didn't argue, didn't resist his comments, it just... happened. Richie felt accomplished for making Eddie laugh, because that's all he wanted to do. 

"I seriously thought you hated me," Richie comments while he tucks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "Oh, I do," Eddie replies almost too quickly, arms around his waist and sleeves bunched at his fists. 

He laughs, giving Eddie a small nudge at his shoulders. There's some silence, it nearly screams at them individually to say something. 

After that night when Eddie had been walking home from the Aladdin, when he questioned his sexuality for five minutes tops, he wanted to know what Richie felt, his thoughts, and everything that came with before figuring himself out. Maybe even after, too. 

"Richie?" 

He hums in acknowledgement, and Eddies heart only picks up pace at a rate so high, he doesn't think he can walk anymore. His knees buckle, stopping him in his tracks. Richie stops and looks behind to Eddie, expression confused. 

"How did you figure out you were gay?" he asks after taking a few deep breaths. The word itself sort of throws him off, feeling some sort of unease. He obviously considered it. Eddie wasn't Richie or Stan, known guys who could be open and couldn't be hurt by anyone. But Eddie was sensitive. His mother wasn't very... fond of such, so what the fuck would he do? The world seems to stop spinning as they look at each other, thinking. He wasn't intruding or guessing, they'd talked about it briefly before. 

"Ten, paying too much attention to Jack Dawson in _Titanic_ ," Richie says with a smile, but shakes his head. "Just messing with you." no shit he is. He always does. If he keeps doing that, someone's gonna get hurt, dammit. 

"It took a while, actually. I didn't want to accept it for the longest. Fear was the largest factor. It hardly felt like I could breathe because I was so afraid. Just a gulp of air would've been nice, but I couldn't get up. When I was fourteen, I'd said I was bi, but barely last year after I turned sixteen I was like, yeah, I'm gay. When I'd told my parents, that's when all that pressure on my chest left. It felt really good, not needing to suppress everything and beat myself up for that every single day." 

They both stop walking entirely, Eddie running the words again and again. He feels sorry that Richie went through what he did. Even though that's nearly everyone who questions their sexuality, they get afraid. It's what keeps humans alive, the knowledge of feeling something. 

Richie makes a face as if to ask about Eddie, referring to what his story was. You could catch a good look at Eddie and maybe, if you thought enough, maybe he was gay. He himself didn't even know. 

"Oh, I'm not- I don't, I-" he stumbles his words. 

"Shit, I'm sorry. I just thought..." 

Richie feels terrible for making such an assumption, his face heating up in panic and embarrassment. 

But Eddie looks down, seems to have dismissed it, and purses his lips. "Well, I don't know," he says quietly, and Richie turns to face him. 

"Maybe I am..." Eddie says, glancing everywhere _but_ Richies face. Avoiding his presence as a whole. "I considered it, but, God I'm scared." he breathes out. Richies expression is soft, understanding. 

He's listening patiently, waiting. Something Eddie thought he'd never see Richie do. That's all he ever wanted, understanding. 

"I get it. Well, yeah, clearly I do," Richie says with a breathy laugh, it makes Eddie smile only the slightest. 

Then his mind comes crawling back to him. All the reminders and negativity screaming back at Eddie. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you this," Eddie says quietly. 

*

He lays in bed that night, thumbing at the thread of his blanket. Eddie stretches it over his stomach, flattens it out, clasps his hands over his stomach, stares up at the ceiling, before moving again to his side. It's been thirty minutes of tossing and turning, eyes closing in an attempt to sleep, but they bolt open at nothing a few seconds later. 

The room feels warmer and thick, the light seems brighter. The moon getting closer to Eddies window each time he opens his eyes. He should be sleeping, it's nearly twelve in-the-morning. His breath is heavy, chest rising and falling in larger motions. What does he do with himself? Who is he? This isn't Eddie Kaspbrak. 

He's beat himself up every day, worried about the outcome, worried if those thoughts his mother claimed were horrid, were true. If they were, who knows what would happen to him. His mother would probably kick him out, leave him for dust on the road. Or maybe she would take him to a mental hospital to help him try to get better from these "unnatural thoughts". Fucking hell.

He isn't any better when he wakes up, getting close to a few hours of sleep. He's moody and groggy, eyebrows unconsciously furrowed while he rubs his eyes, pushing or pulling on things more roughly than he normally would. Eddie isn't a morning person, if you haven't guessed by now. 

Stan tries to make conversation in the morning, but he gets short answers. He feels sick, wrong, dirty. All of that comes spilling out in tears he's tried holding for hours. 

This is Richies fault. Richie brought it up. But, fuck, no. Eddie asked in the first place. Though Richie thought he was, too. Does he look that gay? Jesus Christ, what's his problem? Richie asked with those stupid eyes, and his stupid expression, and his stupid face (that's the same thing, Eddie), and his stupid hair, stupid hands, stupid outfits, stupid jokes, stupid lips, stupid jaw, stupid laugh. Stupid stupid stupid. 

Eddie slams the bathroom door shut, locking himself in a tight space that wouldn't help his heaving chest. 

_Never paid attention to girls._

_Never had a crush on girls._

_Found no interest in girls._

They weren't what he wanted. What did Eddie want? He could fall off the face of the earth and nothing would matter. He'd probably crash and burn one day, and pray to God it isn't into Richie Tozier. 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> underage drinking

It'd been a few weeks after Eddies breakdown in the cafeteria bathroom. Which, in retrospect, wasn't the best place to freak out in. He'd come out red-eyed and tear-stained cheeks a few minutes later, keeping his head down yet still up in the misty clouds.

Stan was the first person he told, unsurprisingly. He was the only person Eddie could confide in, really. The only person he trusted. That's what friends are for. 

It happened while they were walking to the quarry after school. Not like they could do anything anyway, the middle of October isn't at all appropriate to go swimming, especially in Derry.

His palms grew sweaty against the straps of his backpack, clenching and unclenching his fist. Breathing in all the nature that surrounds them. He wonders what life is like outside of a small town, like if the cities are as incredible as they seem, if the lights are as bright as they look, if the smiles are as wide as they are portrayed on a picture.

 _Quit stalling_.

"Stan?" 

That's when he feels like a burden, when he asks for their attention. He doesn't wait for a response before Stan looks beside him to face Eddie. "I think... you're the only person I trust and you're super fucking amazing and you're the bestest friend I've ever had- the only friend I've had and you're so good to me and I wish there was something I could do in return to show how grateful I am for you but-"

He's cut off with a hand on his shoulder, rambling doesn't do him any good. So, Eddie slows down. He takes a deep breath before saying:

"Stan, I think I'm gay." 

Eddie swears the worst is to come. But it doesn't. Stan just wears a smile that takes over half his face. "Yeah?" he asks with the sun around his body like it's everything he emits. Eddie nods slowly.

Maybe this is what Richie was talking about. _This_ as in whatever the fuck Eddie is feeling right now. He just knows that it feels good, relieving, lighter. Letting that breath go when you come up gasping for air while your tight lungs contract. When your head finally hits the pillow. When you take that first sip of hot chocolate on a cold day. It's an indescribable feeling, but it feels so good. More than good. You just want to scream and let the world know. But you can't. You can't have the things you want most. And it's a terrible truth.

Eddie finds the subject touchy, but manages to talk about it anyway. Stan is very clearly happy, either at the fact he was the first person Eddie told, or that he trusted him a lot, or that he was brave enough, maybe all of that. 

He probably could've worded it differently, because Eddie is ninety percent sure he is gay. It's just a matter of how recent and quick he figured it out. Maybe he sees some sort of rules when you discover your sexuality, like you shouldn't know right away, and you need to do some sort of experimenting and deep thinking. For years, probably. All that matters is he knew, and Stan is one person out of the others he'd tell. 

* * *

That was a week ago. Eddie is doing far better. He's been spending more time with Richie. He's laughed a lot harder than ever, and pushes the sight of Richie staring at him with flushed cheeks in the back of his mind. It isn't... valid. Stan and Richie aren't technically a thing, they hardly mention each other at this point.

"You wanna go to a Halloween party?" Richie asks as he plucks grass from where he sits. Eddie squints, "Whose?" 

"Bill Denbrough." 

Ah, Bill Denbrough. Nice guy with a stutter and a bright smile. Despite everything everyone seems to say about him. 

Eddie shrugs, "Did you invite Stan?" because it's only right and logical to ask that. Richie nods and looks expectantly at Eddie for an answer. 

"Oh, sure,"

He doesn't believe he just agreed to a party. And he's going with Richie Tozier. How fun. 

When they get to the house, all you see is lights and decorations and people spilling in and out. Eddie takes a deep breath before opening the car door and letting the cold air breeze through his hair. He shivers only slightly as he crossed over to Richie. 

Stan had already been there long before them. 

"You cold, Eds?" Richie asks. Eddie wraps his arms around himself and looks up at the stars glittering the sky, they look so similar to Richies when he looks at them. "I'm okay," 

It's clearly not convincing, so Richie wraps his arm over Eddies shoulders. "Don't call me that," he says quietly. 

"Call you what?" 

"Eds."

"Gladly!" Richie exclaims, tucking Eddie closer. 

The house is warm and pleasant. But clumsy and loud. Everything seems to be cluttered like a child's toy box, drinks and people everywhere. One person says "Ass-brak!" as they enter and everyone cheers. 

_Since when did they know who I was?_ Eddie thinks to himself. But Stan is approaching them and he can't make things about himself now. 

"Eddie! You came!" Stan says.

"I came!" he says with faux enthusiasm. He separates himself from the group, leaving Richie and Stan to run off into the living room. 

Eddie fixes himself a beer, constantly telling himself to let loose and it's a high school party; his first high school party.

He drinks two, enjoying the fruity taste it leaves on his tongue. He cant see what exact flavor it is because the lights are low and colorful. It might not be like the movies where you dance against sweaty bodies and the music is too loud to make out what the person you came with is saying. Especially when they're across the room from you with your friend chatting up a storm. 

Eddie can't find his mind right now. The mind that reminded him of many things. He knows his vision isn't too clear under the blue lights. But he knows it's Richie talking expressively with his hands and wide smile making it hard to see the words. 

Then, Stan, who is wearing Richies' jacket, leans up and presses his lips against Richies' cheek. 

It isn't much, but it's enough to make Eddies heart plummet to his knees. Richies' eyes immediately dart around the room, then he catches Eddies' eyes on him. 

And Eddie runs for it. 

He's grateful for being a fast walker, especially for the urgency in this situation. Eddie takes his best guess for the bathroom and shuts himself in there. Fuck, the lights messed up his vision, blinking quickly to adjust. And Richie is in his reflection behind him. He really should've locked it, much less shut the door fully. What the fuck. Why is this happening? 

"Hey, you okay? You looked like you were gonna be sick. How much have you had to drink?" Richie says as Eddie turns to face him. 

Eddie probably _will_ be sick. With Richie standing in front of him with the cheek Stan kissed burning his eyes. He doesn't say anything, except flits between Richies lips and the eyes behind glasses. He's definitely swimming through his own incoherent thoughts right now. With fucking, Travis Scott playing in the midst of chatter and dark color in the distance. 

It's almost like Richie can read whatever Eddie is thinking. Because he himself doesn't even know. He licks his lips and begins to say something. 

"Eddie, I-"

But Eddie surges forward and pushes his lips against Richies. It's weird and slow, just like any other first kiss. Eddie knows it's not the alcohol, because it's at this moment he realizes he never hated Richie, not even the slightest. He hated the thought of the possibility that Richie never knew who he was, that Eddie would never get a chance with Richie. And the stupid jokes were apart of his persona, simple sarcasm. It hurt even more when Stan had the opportunity with him. So with Richie's head cradled in Eddies' hands, he realizes that he's always sort of liked Richie in a way he hadn't felt with anyone and didn't know what to do with it. He didn't even know he wasn't gay until, like, a week ago, so. 

Eddie pulls back a few seconds later, eyes filled with panic. "I'm sorry. I- I don't know what that was I- I'm so fucking sorry, Richie," he stumbles on his words while he rambles with the knob on the now shut door. Richie is in some sort of hypnotic trance while he stares at the back of Eddies head. 

His mind left him a long time ago, he doesn't know why he's still in search of it, why he can't feel his fingers on the cold metal but can feel his heart bang out of his chest every nanosecond. "Fuck!" Eddie shouts and it echoes in the small guest bathroom. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and feels it wet. He realizes that he's fucking crying. There isn't a specific reason to it but he is and he wants it over now. 

A hand on his shoulder appears, turning him with force and Richie is there again. A breath away from another kiss. A breath away from another meltdown. But it's the kiss again, and Eddie wouldn't want anything else. At least, not at the moment. 

Eddie didn't know how to kiss. Given the fact he doesn't know what to do with his lips while his hands meet Richies' jaw. But he doesn't hate it entirely. This isn't how he imagined his first kiss being, in a bathroom at a random person's house at a party, however, he wouldn't want it with anyone else.

And it's over. 

It's over when the door opens again, and Stan is standing there. The two quickly separate, lips with spit. Eddie winces when he wipes it off with the back of his hand quickly, watching as Stans expression turns worried to disbelief with grip getting firmer on his cup. He's speechless, he's shocked, he feels defeated.

That his own friend decided to kiss his whatever. Because they never made it official, they hardly hung out. So why was he so upset?

"Stan..." Eddie lets out. And it hurts. Maybe the drinks are finally getting to him and he's hallucinating, is this what happens when you're drunk? Hell, he's nowhere near drunk he's just slightly tipsy. And really fucking lost. 

Nothing can justify the fact the two were caught kissing. So he doesn't say anything. Stan only flops his arm at his side and scoffs, "What the fuck?" and he walks off into a sea of teenagers who have nothing better to do. Poor Stan. 

The two stand there for a moment, white noise over the music. Cloudy vision over yellow and blue light. Richies' lips are tingling, they're tingling in a way he'd never felt. Because it actually meant something. He was hardly even sure Eddie had done it soberly, as in he rationally thought about doing it. Eddie knew that he wanted to do it for a long time. 

"Take me home," Eddie says, "Right fucking now. Please." without taking another look at Richie, he finds his way outside of the house.

And he does. They drive in silence, not mentioning the kiss or getting caught. Why would they? It inevitably fucked up whatever friendship they had going on. 

When Eddie is about to open the door, he wants to shut Richie out of his life. He's now decided that he'd rather fuck up his attendance than face him and hear his stupid voice again. "Eddie," Richie says quietly. He turns around and he's fucking tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally. "What?" and it's softer than he expected.

Richie blinks a few times, before saying, "I uhm... I didn't..." he trails off, and his jaw is moving like he wants to say it so desperately, but he can't. _Please just spit it out, Richie. I can't stand watching your lips move while mine can't be on them. What the fuck?_

He shakes his head, "Never mind. I'm sorry. Goodnight." 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns and tries not to look disappointed, but he walks through his home while it's nearing ten. Just on time for his curfew. He avoids his mother and convinced her that he's just tired. She dismisses him to his room. 

And he just sits at his bed with his knees by his chest. The moments replaying in his head constantly. He dug himself this grave, and he doesn't think there's a way out. 

* * *

A week passes. It's November seventh and Eddies birthday is approaching quickly. Two weeks ago, Eddie would make plans to spend it with Stan and maybe Richie. But this will be like any other birthday he's had, spent alone in his room still lifeless and scrolling through his phone. 

Life is slowly going back to normal. What was normal? A boring life without anyone. Eddie avoided them both, attempting to not acknowledge the exchanged glances with Richie because he happened to be the only one doing that; making the effort. 

There's something about being the first to talk to someone after something big happened between you two, it either makes you seem desperate in a wrong way, or brave and confident. Eddie doesn't know either of them. He's _sorry,_ above it all. 

Eddie talks to Stan first, he's determined to salvage whatever they have left and keep their bond. Because Eddie misses that bond. 

He's fucking nervous, this is worse than anything he'd ever experienced. He's gotta be a privileged brat if he's so worked up about texting someone, right? 

_[eddie] i'm sorry_

_[eddie] really really really fucking sorry and you obviously don't have to accept my apology i don't expect you to i don't know what happened i'm really fucking sorry stan_

Words cannot say how shitty Eddie feels, so he waits for a response and waits and waits. Until a chime grabs his attention the bright morning of his birthday, November ninth.

_[stan] happy bday_

Well...?

* * *

"That'll kill you, you know that, right?" Eddie says as he walks up beside Richie, who is leaning against his car with a joint between his fingers. It fucking stinks.

Richie breathes out opposite of Eddie, "I'm aware, Doctor K," he says. Tension is clearly filling the air, given they hadn't talked since the thirty-first. Then, as Eddie stands next to Richie, it's quiet, maybe in a good way. Maybe it's good that they don't say anything and simply enjoy the company of each other. Because they missed each other, but they wouldn't say that out loud. 

"I'm sorry," Richie blows some smoke out then puts it out below him, acknowledging Eddies clear distaste with smoking. "I'm sorry for kissing you, I know I fucked up you and Stans friendship. He hasn't talked to me either- not like I expect him to, but." 

Eddie looks up to see Richie looking straight ahead of them, which is really nothing. Just trees and nature and damp soil. "You shouldn't be the one sorry. I did it first," he says quietly, recalling everything that happened. 

"I don't even like Stan, I never did. I only agreed to whatever he wanted to get closer to you, I always had a thing for you, even at the times you'd ignore me or roll your eyes. I don't blame you. You're a fucking genius and you're kind and funny, you've got this gorgeous smile and laugh. When I'm with you, it's like I don't care about anything anymore. But I was always afraid to say something because I felt like I'd be trying too hard or you simply didn't feel the same way." 

Eddie just listens, that's all he can do. He's in denial for the most part, that the two of them are plotting against him to reveal an evil truth. However, Richies expression is genuine, but also afraid. There had to be a punchline coming.

"That's what I told your mom the other night. You wanna know what she said?" 

There it was. 

"What'd she say?" Eddie asked with a smile, despite not really talking. "Oh, Richie, I'm so in love with you, too," he says with a high-pitched voice, but it isn't as humorous as his other jokes. "I don't think that's what she said," Eddie shuffles his feet and gets more comfortable against the car.

"She did. Then I hammered her right after," 

"Ew, shut up, Richie, that's disgusting." Eddie scowls, slowly turning into a smile as they look at each other for a minute. He laughs, and it feels so good.

The air might be lighter, he can breathe a lot better now, even with the sky stirring up rain. It smells like nature and dust... how fucking pleasant. When Eddie looks up, he sees Richie already looking at him. It makes his chest feel tight and cheeks hot, like all the times before that he never recognized. Perhaps he didn't _want_ to, because at the time he didn't _like_ Richie. 

"Am I, like, the only one what feels like that between us..." he says cautiously, Eddie hadn't realized he never responded. He'd hardly admitted to himself that he really liked Richie. "No," Eddie laughs, "It's weird to admit, honestly." was that too harsh? 

"I kinda just acted like I hated you because I didn't want to face the fact you didn't _know_ me. You're not too bad though." Eddie shrugs with his lips tugging at the corners. Richie just shakes his head and takes a deep breath. 

The smell of rain became thicker and the light grew darker and Richies obviously high. "Well, would ya look at that," he looks up at the sky, blinking a few times at the drops hitting his glasses. "Dance with me in the rain, Eds, before it starts pouring." 

Eddie scoffs and squints to see past the rain and at Richie moving to the center of the road. "We're gonna get pneumonia, dipshit," he says, "I don't want pneumonia." Eddie shakes his head. And while he looks at Richie spinning on the street, he thinks on how quickly he turned around and pretended like there was nothing between them. What if there wasn't and Eddies just thinking this over too much? Possibly.

"Hop in the car, Eds," Richie says, and it's pouring now and Eddie is cursing himself for giving in to this stupid conversation with Richie while it's raining heavily. He wouldn't be if he didn't like him so much. 

* * *

How can you reveal that you like someone and not have things be weird? Do you just, like, jump into dating right after or? Because right now, the night of Eddies seventeenth birthday in bed, Eddie doesn't know what to do.

* * *

Two weeks pass and Eddie can only assume he and Richie are on the best of terms. Eddie and Stan? Not so much. The last football game of the season was a few days ago, Richie and Eddie had gone together, solely for the purpose of appreciating their friendship. Friends that kissed cheeks or lingered gazes for too long or spent too much time at each other's houses. That cheek kissing thing really crossed whatever line anonymously made long ago. They considered Stans feelings, of course. Not hanging out with each other too often, or holding in a laugh too big for the joke. And he never batted an eye. Stan was probably too busy with his other jock friends. He truly wants the best for Stan. 

Two weeks before winter break, find Eddie in the cafeteria bathroom scrubbing his hands with soap until his fingers fall off. Then comes Stan, right by his side. Of all the sinks in this bathroom, he chose the one next to Eddie. Clearly on purpose.

Eddie watches the way Stans hands run under the water, the way he'll pause then continue for longer than needed, contemplating saying something. But by the time Eddie wraps his hands in the paper towel to dry them off, he looks up and opens his mouth. 

"Eddie," he calls, and Eddie looks up, humming in response. "You okay?" he asks, to which Eddie nods. "Yeah. You?" Eddie returns the question. 

Stan has a smile creeping upon his lips, "Good, yeah. You know... you know Patty? Patty Blum?" 

Nodding, Eddie begins to smile too. "You want me to write a letter to her, too?" he jokes and Stan can't help but huff a laugh. "No, no," he shakes his head slowly. 

"I'm happy for you and Richie..." he says honestly, Eddie scrunched his face in confusion. "...I'm not gonna, like, ruin it or whatever. Patty and I... we're kind of a thing?" 

And Eddie has to interrupt, because what the fuck?

"Wait, wait, wait. What..."

"Oh, you guys aren't...?"

"No! Oh, fuck, no," Eddie exclaims while he shakes his head rapidly. The whole world seems to go silent in the bathroom. No one is in here, and nothing but static can be heard. "That's great, Stan," Eddie says after some time, awkwardly. Stan nods with a slight smile and Eddie leaves as embarrassed as he could ever be. 

But time passes and everything is great. Nothing is different or disturbed, its fantastic. Eddie doesn't think he'll ever shit on high school crushes, at least, not Richie Tozier.

**Author's Note:**

> i hate this like a lot lol. i lost a ton of interest and motivation i kinda just half assed it fjakjf


End file.
